


Trust Exercise

by Meskeet



Series: h/c bingo fills 2017 [4]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake is Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: Nightwing and Robin are in a bit of a tight spot.





	Trust Exercise

**Author's Note:**

> Posting as a h/c bingo fill, for "accidents".
> 
> Once upon a time, I started writing a "five times the team looked up to Nightwing" fic. That didn't quite pan out, but I did complete part 1, which is what you see here.Thanks goes to Alex who made me watch both seasons of this show in less than a week and laughed at all my feels.

It’s not often that Tim wakes up and doesn’t know where he is – in fact, nothing drives him _insane_ faster than startling awake, gasping for breath and having no clue how he got there or even what _there_ means.

It’s an anxiety that Bruce and Dick haven’t hesitated to needle, not when it’s an easy way to make him go from groggy wakefulness into full fight-or-flight. Years from now, he’s sure he’ll appreciate their foresight.

Generally, though, it just makes him pissed and, yeah, he tends to come up swinging.

Except…

It’s pitch black and everything hurts. His fingers, his elbow, even the ends of his hair bristle with a bone-deep ache that startle a low moan from him before he can hold it back. Breathing just makes his ribs grind together and when he feels more than hears a small crack, swearing just makes everything worse.

He can barely breathe, but he doesn’t think it’s just the ribs. His eyes have started to adjust to dull pricks of light and it’s enough to make him realize that, no, it’s not the absence of light that makes his vision taper off about three inches out – rather, it’s the pile of rubble keeping him pinned to the ground, the warm deadweight at his back that doesn’t respond to his short-lived attempts to scramble free.

Tim’s been in tighter spots (ha, ha, _Robin_ , clearly he should start an act with Dick) but the weight keeping him pinned to the floor is enough to make panic squeeze his chest tight.

 _Dick…_ Where was Dick – they’d been… training, he thinks? Sparring in one of the Justice League boltholes and Dick had been teaching him a series of flips that looked ridiculously simple when _Nightwing_ did it, but Tim’s attempt had ended with an abrupt collision with a leg press. There’d been an alert and Dick had made a comment about a two-bit villain and then –

The memory makes his head hurt, a sharp ache that he tries to squirm away from and just ends up jarring his arm. There’s a bruise spreading there, blood pool under the surface that makes his entire body feel weighed down, but… well, he needed to find Dick. He needed to get out. No other Robin would be trapped by some minor villain that Dick had jokingly titled the _Condiment King_ just before things had gone to hell.

There it is. A dim fragment of a missing memory. Tim chases it down the rabbit hole and –

 “Robin? Back with me?”

Dick’s voice is soft – it has to be, even spoken quietly, noise reverberates in their closed space. Still, it makes him flinch.

All the same, it prepares him for when Nightwing presses just a bit away from him, the heat from his proximity receding. It doesn’t lessen the claustrophobia in the slightest, but the weight digging into his ribs eases. The cloying air becomes just a bit easier to breathe.

“Messed up, didn’t I?” Tim mumbles. It’s hard to remember much beyond the explosion, but he remembers enough. Dick had flipped away, laughing the whole time – Tim had followed, but his feet had landed just on the edge of the forming crater. There’d been a split second when he thought he’d make it, but then a large chunk beneath his feet had broken away. “Shouldn’t’ve left the belt off.”

And yeah, there it was. Dick had lunged after him, all levity gone. He’d grabbed Tim, shot off the grappling hook but something had gone wrong.

It’s probably a good thing Tim doesn’t remember falling.

He marks Nightwing’s pause. “Well, that didn’t help. But it’s not as though _mine_ helped any.”

 Something sounds… off about Nightwing’s voice. A hint of strain that being trapped under god-knows-what can’t quite account for.

He’d just gotten introduced to the rest of the Young Justice League as a potential member _yesterday_ and here he was, already taking out Nightwing. Good job, Tim. At this rate, they wouldn’t even need to worry about the bad guys.

Nightwing grunts, elbows and knees knocking into Tim. He tries to pull away, give Dick a little room to do… whatever he’s doing, but there’s really only so much space. Something slips into his good hand – _cool, metallic_ – and it takes him a moment to recognize the familiar feel Birdarangs in his hand.

“Uh, Nightwing?”

“There’s a gap, about a foot above my head. It’s too small for me to fit, but if you can reach into it and set some explosives, we may be able to grapple out of here before the building above us destabilizes entirely.”

So… the plan was to avoid destabilizing the building by blowing up everything on top of them? Tim almost voices the thought but bites down on his tongue just in time.

Sure, his arms might be smaller, but he’s not going to be able to reach that high if one of them is trapped in place. But… Dick hasn’t even questioned his ability to do this, not in the slightest. He just spoke and assumed Tim could do it.

“Gimme a second to get my arm out.”

If there’s one thing Tim has learned about Dick in the last year, it’s that he isn’t a patient man. Not by nature, not even by nurture, no matter how much Batman scolds him over rushing into things. Even Tim’s managed to outwait Bruce once or twice, but he doesn’t even think Dick tries any more. But now, even when Tim can’t help but curse when he feels another sharp pain from his ribs from the strain, Dick doesn’t say a thing.

“Sorry,” he says, when he has to stop at last, eyes watering too much to make out the shapes of the rocks in front of him. His arm hurts like hell, skin scraping until blood makes the crevasse slick.

“You’re doing great,” Dick rasps, even when Tim accidentally elbows him a second time. “What are you apologizing for?”

Tim jerks the rest of his arm free – at least all the bleeding he’s been doing seems to be good for something. Dick grunts and jerks away as they jar against each other, sharp shocks of pain racing down Tim’s arm.

“ _You_ weren’t the one that fell.”

“Tim, you made a mista-”

“Mistakes get people killed!” Tim snaps. Batman’s said it how many times? “ _Nightwing_ doesn’t fall. _Batman_ doesn’t fall.”

He’s hyperventilating, claustrophobia mingling with pain and exhaustion and panic. He wants out, he wants out _now_ , he doesn’t want to be here with Nightwing, who’s grim and focused in a way Dick rarely is.

“I grew up in the circus,” Dick replies, as insufferably unflappable as ever. “You didn’t.”

Ouch. It’s not like he’s looking for any sort of reassurance, but _damn_ Dick. The words make Tim pause, take a long, rattling breath. He raises himself on his shaking arm and reaches up with his bad one, ignoring how his eyes start to sting. 

“- _but_ you’re Robin. You don’t need to be me or Batman. Trust me when I say one Batman is more than enough. There’s a reason I’m Nightwing these days. I couldn’t be Robin anymore, but Bruce _needs_ you. The team’s going to need you. We made plenty of mistakes starting out, you just weren’t there to see them.”

Tim can’t reach any further – he presses the Birdarang as deeply into the rocks as he could and twists to face Dick. “Prime it?”

“Go ahead. I trust you.”

Tim pauses, just for a moment. Nightwing’s sunk back into the small space, one arm pressed close to his chest. A small trickle of blood runs down the side of his head, smearing down his neck until it disappears in the darkness.

“Ass.”

“Part of the charm,” Grayson smirks, the expression spreading wide across his face. The blood smeared over his teeth makes the expression more alarming than Dick likely intends.

 “You sure this isn’t going to take us out with it?”

“Two-way street, Robs,” Dick says. The white of one eye winks closed. “You’re doing the heavy work, let me take care of the easy stuff.”

Tim, the pain from his ribs a wildfire racing through his side, one hand struggling to clench tight, pauses.

 _Trust him._ Bruce had told him that, the first night when they’d come back from the manor and he’d seen Dick looming in the shadows of the manor in full Nightwing attire. He’d done the research, figured out who they were, but knowing a man’s name didn’t make the superhero getup any less terrifying to a ten-year-old. _Trust him,_ Bruce had said, and Dick’s never given him a reason not to.

He presses down, hears the soft click as the charges prime. Tim yanks his hand back, feels how Nightwing’s arm wraps over his chest and a shift as he adjusts the grappling hook.

He hears the _pop_ of explosives, a sharp of white hot pain, and -

They’re flying, the both of them, lifting off the ground and being flung through the air. Dick’s arm is clamped tight around him like a vise, his grip slick with blood as he clings tight to Tim. There’s a moment of weightlessness then a harsh drop when gravity asserts itself. Dick makes a low, pained noise that cuts off abruptly, as though he’s afraid to let Tim hear.

It doesn’t worry Tim, not in the slightest because this is _Dick,_ Flying Grayson and all. The building starts to crumble around them, a dull roar as smoke and dust rise into the air but… Tim isn’t worried in the slightest. Not because he’s with _Nightwing_ , but because this is Dick and Tim knows he won’t let go.


End file.
